


Lancelot's Magic

by Onehelluvapilot



Series: Healer Lancelot [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: (not Merlin's magic), Arthur Finds Out About Lancelot's Magic (Merlin), Blood and Injury, Gen, Healer Lancelot, Hurt Leon (Merlin), Hurt Merlin (Merlin), Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Lancelot Has Magic (Merlin), Lancelot has healing magic, Magic, Magic Revealed, Major Character Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:14:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26067820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onehelluvapilot/pseuds/Onehelluvapilot
Summary: Lancelot has healing magic. Merlin finds out, and when another knight is badly injured, Arthur and the others do as well.
Relationships: Lancelot & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Lancelot & Leon (Merlin), Lancelot & Merlin (Merlin)
Series: Healer Lancelot [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2140281
Comments: 20
Kudos: 147





	Lancelot's Magic

**Author's Note:**

> Betaed by simoneleona
> 
> If anything in this seems familiar, I used modified parts of it in both Magic Mercelot and In Which The Knights All Have Magic, because I was being lazy and didn't want to write whole new sections when ones from this worked fine. It's not plagarized or stolen from anyone other than myself

“You’re not going to say anything?” Lancelot asked when Merlin came into the room. With his hand resting over Leon’s unconscious form, the echoes of a spell fresh on his lips, and his eyes glowing gold when he looked up, he had no doubt that the warlock had seen his magic.

“What is there to say?” Merlin replied, a huge smile splitting his face. “Except you should probably lock the door before using magic in Camelot.”

“Like you always do?” he retorted. “You’re starting to sound like Gaius.” Merlin made a face at him for that. “You’re not mad at me, though, for keeping it from you?” Though he knew he didn’t have much reason to, he couldn’t help but worry. It wasn’t like Lancelot had a good reason to lie to Merlin, not like the reasons the warlock had to lie to Arthur.

“Well, it’s not like we’ve had a lot of time to talk about it,” Merlin replied lightly. Clearly, he wasn’t upset by the revelation. How could he be? Lancelot was already one of his closest friends, and the discovery that he had magic would only bond them tighter together. “I mean, you were banished from Camelot right after you realized I had magic, and I understand why you didn’t say anything before that, obviously. I am curious, however, about why you didn’t use your own magic against the griffin.”

“I’m not good at that sort of magic,” Lancelot explained. “Not like you. In fact, my magic is kind of useless in battle. I have to concentrate too much to use it. There’s a reason I trained my skill with a sword instead.”

“What can you do, if not use it to fight?” That was most of what he used his own magic for. Fighting and protecting Arthur. And mischief.

“I’m mostly good at healing magic,” the knight admitted with a blush. He knew the warlock himself wasn’t at all talented at it, from experience when he’d been wounded, and it felt weird to be better at something magical than someone who  _ was _ Magic.

“Yeah?” Merlin said, sounding excited. “Well, don’t be surprised if Gaius steals you more often now that we know that.”

“I’d be happy to help,” Lancelot agreed amicably.

“Help with what?” Leon asked, coming awake on the cot. Both the magic users looked at each other, terrified of how much of their conversation the other knight had heard.

“With the utter hassle of keeping you knights from getting hurt,” Lancelot teased, leaning forward to ruffle Leon’s hair. It was simply payback for the times the First Knight had done the same for him. In the few months since the new knights had come to Camelot, a strange bond had formed between the two of them.

“Us knights,” Leon corrected, reaching up from the cot to grab Lance’s arm and squeeze it comfortingly. His eyes focussed in on his own hand in apparent confusion after a minute. “I could have sworn I broke that wrist when I fell.”

“Nope, just a sprain,” Merlin quickly lied. “Not even a bad one even.”

“Huh, that’s lucky,” Leon said, sitting up. He raised his hand to his forehead. “I don’t have a headache either. Normally whenever I get knocked out, my head hurts for days.”

“Maybe you’ve got a guardian angel looking out for you,” Merlin supplied helpfully. “If you’re feeling better then, you can go rest in your own chambers for the rest of the day.” He was eager to get the knight out of the room, so he could interrogate Lancelot about the extent of his abilities. 

“Are you sure? Gaius usually keeps me a few hours after I wake up whenever I’m knocked unconscious, to make sure everything is alright.”

“And you always complain the entire time,” Merlin retorted. Honestly, why was the knight questioning it? He made no secret of the fact that he hated the smell of the physician’s rooms, so he should be glad to be allowed to leave. “I’ll come check up on you in an hour, but there’s no reason why you would need to stay here.”

“Alright then.” Leon seemed perfectly steady on his feet once Lancelot helped him stand up, and Merlin decided they didn’t need to walk him to his chambers. Gaius would be furious when he learned about it, but he figured that they could just explain that Lance had healed him already, and could do so again if he fell down on his way there and broke something. Merlin closed the door after him and immediately ran over to Lancelot and practically launched himself into the other man’s arms. He was laughing, and Lance was almost disappointed about the hug, because it meant he couldn’t see the warlock’s smile.

“Tell me everything,” he demanded, pulling Lancelot with him into the bedroom.

* * *

  
  


“You shouldn’t have jumped in front of me like that,” Lancelot scolded gently as he tenderly wiped blood away from the burn on Merlin’s chest. The two men had been out trying to solve the case of the strange lights being seen in the forests around Camelot, the night before the knights were being sent out to investigate. They had thought that it would be easier for the two magic users to deal with it by themselves. It probably still was for the best, as they were able to use all of their abilities to defeat the Sidhe that turned out to be behind the lights without worrying about hiding their magic, but it had left Lance in the unenviable position of carrying an injured Merlin back to the castle by himself after they’d been attacked with flying balls of fire. He’d quickly used magic to stave off shock and tend to the head injury where the servant had been thrown against a tree, but there had been fabric burned into his other wounds, which he had needed to clean before he could heal him. After returning to Merlin’s room, he had taken care to numb the area with a simple spell before taking a cloth to it gently.

“I wasn’t going to just let you get burned. You can heal me, but I can’t do the same for you,” Merlin countered. He sat in his bed with his back against the wall, already-ruined shirt ripped up the front.

“Oh, so it was perfectly logical then?” Lancelot teased. He was sitting in front of Merlin on the bed, the warlock’s folded legs between them.

“Partly. I guess I wasn’t really thinking about it in the moment,” he admitted. It was simply instinct for him to jump in front of danger at this point, because of Arthur. “I just didn’t want to see you hurt.” Lance lay a hand on his shoulder briefly, a silent gesture of appreciation, before splaying his fingers out over Merlin’s narrow chest.

Closing his eyes and breathing deeply, he concentrated on making the blisters disappear and the raw skin knit back together. This was the kind of healing Lancelot couldn’t do very often, despite how much he loved it. Normally he stuck to enchanting poultices and salves to be just slightly more effective than usual, to heal Arthur and the knights more subtly and gradually so that they would not suspect him, Merlin, or Gaius of sorcery. Only in emergencies, or with Merlin, could he allow himself the vulnerability of laying hands on someone to heal them directly.

“You’re wrong, you know,” he said softly after he’d opened his eyes. He always instinctively closed them when using his magic, so he could be mistaken to be praying while actually he was hiding the golden glow. The burns on his friend’s chest were closed, covered with pale new skin. “You could have healed me too. Just not with magic.” 

“What do you mean?” Merlin asked.

“Your skill as a physician, of course. You have healed me from more wounds than I have you.” Lancelot picked up a small jar of salve from the bedside table and began to spread it over the delicate new skin of Merlin’s chest. Already his movements were less deft, his hands slightly clumsy. Healing magic was often exhausting, and even for one as practiced as Lancelot, it could take a lot out of him.

“Not as well.”

“Perhaps not as quickly, that’s true, but more impressively. It is a greater skill to treat wounds with herbs and knowledge than with power. I wish you would not doubt yourself, for you are the most talented man I have ever met.” 

“I- Thank you,” Merlin said, and Lancelot smiled. Normally the warlock was terrible at accepting praise, but sometimes, usually when he was tired, he’d take the compliment without too much protest. Other times, when he was really exhausted from trying to keep Arthur alive, he’d object and claim he was useless and wonder why he was even chosen to have a destiny or magic at all when he was clearly so rubbish at it. Those times, it was usually best to just bundle him up in blankets and put him to bed. Lancelot knew a few sleeping spells that usually did the trick. Merlin always tried to do the same for him, like now. “You gonna spend the rest of the night here, or does Gaius need to escort you back to your chambers?” 

“I’ll stay,” he agreed with a yawn, standing up. He recognized that he would probably pass out in the hallway if he tried to walk back to his own rooms, and Merlin never minded the company despite the small size of the bed. Managing to pull off his standard, he dropped it in the corner before getting stuck halfway out of his hauberk. Luckily, the manservant was well versed in wardrobe malfunctions and managed to get him out of it without too much difficulty. It wore both of them out though, and they fell into the small bed, thoroughly exhausted by the night’s events. Lancelot took off his boots but didn’t bother with his gambeson. The padded shirt was comfortable enough to both lie in and lie on. Merlin sprawled over the knight’s chest and both of them were asleep within minutes. 

* * *

“There’s nothing I can do here,” Merlin said, his eyes wide with horror as he examined the spear sticking out of Leon’s back. None of its metal tip was even visible, indicating that it had driven itself at least four inches in, and the horrible gasping indicated that it had punctured a lung. The injured knight had minutes, at most, before he drowned in his own blood.

“There has to be something!” Arthur shouted. He couldn’t lose Leon. The man was his most trusted knight, captain of the guard, and, frankly, his closest friend, besides Merlin. He couldn’t die; not on a routine patrol. Not from something as simple as an attack by bandits. “You’re a physician, Merlin; there must be  _ something _ you can do!”

“I would if I could, Arthur, believe me. This is beyond what medicine can fix. I can’t heal him.” His voice was choked with emotion, and the prince believed him.

“No,” Lancelot said. The knight was knelt down beside Merlin, one hand on Leon’s shoulder to hold him still. He looked up at the servant, making and holding eye contact for a second, and then up at Arthur and the other knights clustered around before looking back down at the spear. A determined look set on his face, he stripped off his gloves and pushed up his sleeves. “But I can. Merlin, pull it out,” he ordered, and Arthur balked. He didn’t have much medical knowledge, but he knew you weren’t supposed to pull any kind of blade out of a stab wound until you at least had something with which to stem the bleeding. Though he supposed it might make it easier for Leon to breathe his last few breaths without a spear in his back. The First Knight didn’t even have enough air in his lungs to scream as Merlin grabbed the handle and yanked it out, simply writhing under Lancelot’s grasp.

“Please, just let me die,” he begged in a breathless whisper as Lancelot moved, slipping a hand through the ragged hole the spear had pierced in his chainmail. Putting pressure against the wound, Arthur assumed, though in the past he had always seen that done with bandages or at least some torn cloth, not just a bare hand. He was also surprised to see that Lancelot took care to slip his hand under Leon’s gambeson and shirt so that he touched bare skin.

“No,” Lancelot denied him bluntly. “You’re going to be fine.  **Þurhhæle dolgbenn** .” His eyes glowed purple and Leon breathed in a deep breath, deeper than any man with a punctured lung should be able to take. Lancelot took his hands off the injured man and Merlin rolled up the back of his shirt and chainmail. Where the wound should have been, there was only a slight scar and some drying blood.

“Sorcerer!” Gwaine shouted, though it seemed to be more in surprise than anger or fear, and Arthur quickly grabbed Lancelot by the collar and pulled him away from Leon before he could use another enchantment on him. Tossing the man he had thought to be a loyal servant of the crown onto his back, he leveled the point of his sword at his neck. Lance didn’t try to fight him, just lay back with a serene look on his face as if to accept his fate. It was an expression Arthur had seen on the faces of some of his knights killed in battle and on sorcerers about to be executed by his father. He had never expected to see it on Lancelot, put there by his own sword.

“Arthur, don’t!” Merlin shouted.

“He used magic!” the prince bit back.

“Yes, to save Leon’s life!” The servant sounded distressed, but not surprised, and oh Gods, he had known about it, hadn’t he? Merlin had known Lancelot had magic and not reported it. He could be sentenced to death for such a crime. “He meant no harm!”

“He’s a sorcerer, Merlin, of course he means to harm me,” Arthur retorted, with a familiar jolt of fear. That’s what all sorcerers had done, ever since he was born. They always tried to kill him or his father. Leon moved, and Percival helped the knight to sit up. There was no sign of pain on his face that Arthur could see; rather, he seemed astonished as his own gaze wandered over to Lancelot’s. When their eyes met, Lance smiled. Not an evil smirk like he was used to seeing on sorcerers, but just a genuine, happy smile. The only explanation for it was that he was happy that Leon was alive. Although, given that he had exposed his magic to save his life, maybe that shouldn’t have been surprising.

“If he meant to harm you, don’t you think he would have already done it by now?” Merlin reasoned, and Arthur had to admit the truth of that. He had let Lancelot into his life, into his inner circle of knights, and not once had the man shown him anything but fealty. Until now, that was.

“Arthur, if you lower your sword, I can explain,” Lancelot himself said. Arthur simply adjusted his grip on his sword as his palms began to sweat, still holding it at his neck. He couldn’t just let him go; who knew what he would do then?

“Most sorcerers have to be able to use their hands to channel their magic, right?” He asked no one in particular. After a second, Gwaine answered him.

“Every one that I’ve ever met has.”

“Morgause didn’t, but I think that’s just because she’s extremely powerful,” Elyan added. Arthur nodded. For all he knew, Lancelot was extremely powerful too, but if that was the case they wouldn’t have much of a chance against him whatever happened.

“Get the ropes from the pack and tie him up,” he ordered, and was quickly obeyed. Lancelot didn’t fight as he was dragged over to sit against a tree with his hands tied around it behind him.

“It felt just like when I was healed with the cup of life by the druids,” Leon said, sounding a little shocked. He tried to get to his feet, but stumbled a little. Percival caught him.

“Easy,” the big man cautioned him. “You might still be hurt. Or enchanted.” Leon shook his head, but allowed himself to be guided to sit back down against a tree.

“I promise I did nothing of the sort,” Lancelot said.

“Forgive us if we do not take you at your word,” Gwaine said angrily. Arthur didn’t think that he hated Lancelot for being a sorcerer; he knew that the man had met all kinds of people in his travels before he had come to Camelot and didn’t share the nation’s ideas about magic. More likely, he was simply hurt because he’d been lied to. “You’re clearly not the man we thought you to be.”

“I am who I have always been,” Lance retorted. It was not as sharp as it might have been, but rather, he simply sounded determined. It must be a great burden off one’s back, Arthur supposed, to have his lie revealed so he would no longer have to hide. Even if it resulted in him being tied up with the threat of the executioner’s sword hanging over his head. “Magic is as much a part of who I am as my sword fighting ability.”

“What can you do with it?” Percival asked, a suspicious edge to his voice. Arthur had feared that the big knight had known, perhaps been in on whatever assassination plot or coup the sorcerer was planning, since he and Lancelot had arrived together. Evidently not though. Unless he was just pretending not to know. Arthur had no idea who to trust here. Even Merlin, it seemed, had betrayed him. The servant had sat quietly on the ground after Arthur had lowered his sword, not contributing to the conversation but observing it carefully.

“I’m only trained at healing magic,” Lancelot replied. “I had some natural talent with it, which the druids nurtured when they took me in after my family was killed.”

“You were raised by druids?” Leon asked. The story he had given them before was that after he was orphaned, he was taken in as a stableboy by a kindly lord, who had also allowed him to train in fighting and riding with the pages and squires and his own son Kay.

“Partly. I traveled with them for a few years, from my eighth winter to my eleventh, until I was taken in by Sir Ector. When the Lord died, I returned to and traveled with the druids for another year before coming to Camelot.”

“Didn’t the druids tell you about my father’s laws against sorcery?” Arthur asked, before something else occurred to him. “You used magic, when you were there. With the griffin.” He recalled Gaius warning them that the beast could only be killed by magic, but when Lancelot had defeated it, he assumed the old man had simply been mistaken.

“Yes, sire,” Lancelot agreed. “I am not talented at enchantments placed upon swords or lances, but it was a desperate situation and I persevered in the end.”

“You risked your life, then, even knowing that the penalty for practicing sorcery is death,” Leon said. The formerly-injured knight seemed tired, leaning back against the tree, but he appeared determined to follow the conversation. His condition was somewhat mirrored in Lancelot himself, whose shoulders were slumped despite the bonds that pulled at them and whose breathing was heavier and more labored than usual for him, especially when he was just sitting. Arthur wondered if they should spend the night here, rather than attempting to ride back to Camelot. It would at least give both of them a chance to rest, and himself more time to decide what to do with the sorcerer-knight.

“I could not allow innocent people to die,” Lance replied. With that simple line, he seemed to win over Elyan and Gwaine, who put their swords away from where they had remained in their hands. Was it really so simple? Could they really just believe that Lancelot was still a good and noble man at heart, despite his magic? “When I was knighted, I swore to protect Camelot and its citizens to the best of my abilities. To me, that included my magic, which is why I didn’t stop using it even under pain of death.”

“Each of you have been healed by it,” Merlin spoke up. “At some point or another.”

“You knew?” Elyan asked.

“Of course I knew,” the physician-in-training said, and Arthur felt a pang of grief spike through his heart.  _ Merlin, you idiot, don’t incriminate yourself. _ Under his father’s laws, anyone found to be consorting with a sorcerer or who failed to turn them in forfeit their own life. “Why do you think he spends so much time with Gaius and I? He’s probably healed half of Camelot from something or another by now.”

“Including me?” Arthur demanded, and Lancelot nodded.

“I enchanted the salve Gaius gave you for that torn muscle to make it more effective,” he explained. “I even tried to heal Uther.”

“You tried to use magic to heal my father?” That part came out as a shout, though he had maintained a reasonable volume of voice throughout the discussion previously. Guinevere had asked him not to yell when they argued, and he had been trying to listen.

“It didn’t work,” Merlin pointed out unhelpfully. Arthur planted his sword in the soft dirt by his feet so he could rub a hand over his face. He sighed.

“Lancelot, you have to stop,” he said, with finality in his tone. “Sorcery corrupts those who use it. I’m willing to believe you’re still a good man. You can’t help what you were taught as a child.”

“No,” the knight said. There were a million different possibilities for what he meant by that. As he explained, it became evident that he meant all of them. “No. I’m not responsible for what I was taught any more than you are. No, sorcery doesn’t corrupt; power does. And no, I’m not going to stop.”

“Lancelot, please. I do not want to see you hanged, but if you continue on this path, I will have no choice.”

“We always have a choice, Arthur,” he said. It was rare that he called the prince by his name. He only did it when he was serious. “If you truly believe all magic is evil, then the decision to turn me in should be easy.” After a moment, he added, “I can see from your face that it isn’t.”

“I need more time to think about this,” he announced, hating that Lancelot was right and that he had seen through him so easily. “We’ll stay here for the night and return to Camelot in the morning. Merlin, gather wood for the fire. Percival and Gwaine, help me move the bodies away. Elyan, Leon, keep an eye on Lancelot.”

“It would probably be easier to just move a short distance away,” Leon suggested. “Given the blood.” Arthur suspected that the knight also didn’t want to stay in the place where he had almost died.

“Good idea,” he agreed. “Percival, you’re in charge of Lancelot.” While he didn’t think the sorcerer would try to hurt any of them, he chose Percival specifically because they were close, and perhaps that would dissuade him from trying anything. He would also be able to support Lancelot physically if he needed it; the knight seemed exhausted, his head hanging forward slightly, as if he couldn’t hold it up. Using his magic must take a lot out of him.

Arthur helped Leon up, needing to reassure himself that his friend was okay. He had a feeling that the image of him, lying face down with a spear protruding from his back, was going to join his ever-expanding list of nightmares. Despite everything, he couldn’t help but thank Lancelot (in his head, of course) for saving him. They walked maybe half a mile down the road from the scene of the fight before making camp. Percival gently tied Lancelot up again, this time not around a tree and with his hands in front of him. It wasn’t as secure, but Arthur didn’t object.

Merlin got a fire going, and Lance sprawled out beside it at the earliest opportunity. Leon took the other side. They both had dark circles under their eyes and trouble keeping their heads up. Merlin made them both eat something, explaining to the others that both healing and being healed could be exhausting, especially with serious wounds, and then let them rest even though it was not yet dusk.

“They’ll worry at home when we don’t come back on time,” Elyan pointed out to Arthur in a hushed voice. They stood a little ways away from the campsite so as not to wake Leon and Lance.

“We could send someone back to tell them what’s happened,” Gwaine suggested. “Or not what’s happened, but some lie about what’s happened and assure them we’re alright.” He glanced over his shoulder towards the fire. “If we are.”

“That’s a good idea,” Arthur agreed. “You should go. Don’t say anything beyond what you need to, not to anyone.” Gwaine nodded, seriously for once, and took a horse, riding hard to reach the city before nightfall. Elyan offered to take first watch, Percival second, Arthur third. Merlin had fourth, but was never woken for it. The prince had taken a long time in drifting off in the first place, and after his shift was over, he didn’t even try to fall asleep again and decided not to wake the servant. He sat up, watching over them and thinking. Lancelot, having fallen asleep earlier than the others, woke up first.

“Do I have permission to…?” he asked, gesturing to the woods. Arthur nodded. He wouldn’t get far on foot and if he was gone too long, he could easily either track him down on horseback or, more likely, let him go. He was back soon enough though. “Have you made a decision?”

“Not yet,” Arthur admitted. “I don’t know what to do here. With you. Sorcery is illegal in Camelot, and you practiced it.” He sighed, twirling his mother’s ring around on his finger. “And yet you saved Leon’s life with it, and I can hardly call that evil.”

“Nor can I,” another voice piped up, and Arthur nearly startled out of his skin. He’d forgotten about Leon’s disconcerting habit of pretending to be asleep to gather information, which he claimed had served him well with the druids when he’d been revived with the Cup of Life. Lancelot had probably woken him by accident when he’d gotten up, and he’d been waiting for the perfect opportunity since then to scare the pants off of Arthur. The First Knight had been spending too much time with Gwaine and Lancelot, he decided.

“Leon, what do you think I should do?” Arthur asked. He trusted him, despite the fact that he’d clearly intentionally scared him. Leon had been his First Knight for years, and his best friend (aside from Merlin).

“It’s up to you, sire, but respectfully, I would counsel you against telling your father. Even in the state he is in, he’d have Lancelot executed.” He glanced over at the man in question as he said this, his expression unreadable, before looking back to Arthur. “You can’t take that decision back. Lancelot may be a sorcerer, but it’s clear he doesn’t mean any harm. With what I know now, I can remember at least two other times he healed me. In all honesty, his abilities would be a great asset to the knights, and as long as he can keep them concealed from the King, I don’t see what the problem is.”

“Sorcery is an asset?” Arthur asked incredulously. “Leon, how could you say that? You’ve seen what magic has done to Camelot.”

“You do not condemn a blade for the lives it may take while being wielded by someone evil. Why should magic be any different?”

“Because it corrupts people! Even if they have only good intentions when they begin to study it, it turns them and they in turn use it for evil. Look at what happened with Morgana!”

“With respect, Morgana was turned against you and Camelot by fear and treachery. The druids practice magic, and they remain peaceful.”

“Perhaps it’s just druid magic that’s different,” Arthur retorted.

“Which is what I practice, sire,” Lancelot interjected, and the prince’s face fell as he realized he had just conceded his argument by accident. “I swear that in the decade I have practiced magic, the only lure I have felt from it was the desire to learn more so I could be of greater assistance to those in need. In my knights vows, I swore to protect the crown and Camelot to the best of my abilities. I meant all of them, which is why I refuse to give up on a practice that helps people.”

Arthur sighed. Trust Lancelot’s unerring goodness to make him question everything he thought he knew, about nobility, honor, and, now, magic. “I can’t believe I’m saying this,” he said, “but I won’t tell my father about your magic. Not yet, at least. I can’t promise that won’t change. I can’t bear to see you banished again, never mind executed, and Leon’s right. You’re far too good a knight, and a friend, to lose.” He gestured for Lancelot to come over to him and untied his hands.

“Thank you, Arthur,” Lancelot said. “I won’t let you down. Magic isn’t evil or corrupting, you’ll see.” The prince wasn’t so sure about that, but somehow, he hoped it was true.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to hear what you think! Comments make my day!


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